Chapter Text
Chuuya wakes up to the sound of his phone going off. After a quick glance at the clock — it’s four in the morning — he swipes across the screen and holds it to his ear, squinting into the darkness. “Yes?”
“There’s been another two.”
“Damn it.” He sighs. “I’m on my way.”
It takes him twenty minutes to get out of bed, take a quick, cold shower, get dressed in his usual work attire, grab an iced coffee from his fridge and leave his apartment. Another ten pass as he drives to the address his subordinate sent him. At four-thirty, he’s standing in one of Yokohama’s many alleyways, looking at the dead bodies of two Port Mafia members.
“Names?” he demands.
Akutagawa steps forward. He’s been trying to insert himself into more work that requires wits and brains instead of pure brute force ever since he made that deal with the weretiger kid, but Chuuya’s not sure how well that’s been working out for him. Especially with this case. “Hamasaki Yuji and Osada Shuichi,” he starts in that monotone, dark voice of his, hands behind his back. “Both low-level grunts. Hamasaki was under Hirotsu-san’s orders. Osada… was under mine.”
Chuuya’s eyes flash to Akutagawa. “So, you knew him?”
“Like I said, a low-level, but yes.” His expression manages to darken somehow. “He was in the Port Mafia for three years.”
“Huh.” Chuuya hums and turns his gaze back to the scene. Both of them were found with gunshots in their chests and additional symbols carved into the skin of their necks. According to their pathologist, who examined the last eight victims, death occurred before the strange markings. Chuuya’s positive this case’s no different. “Anything in common with the other deaths?”
“Aside from being Port Mafia members and that they were found in pairs, no.”
“Fine. Call for a clean up and get me a team together to end this before it hurts the Port Mafia even more.”
“But Nakahara-san, we don’t even know who they are?”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re targeting us specifically, and that’s enough reason to exterminate whoever it is.” At the dire look on the kid's face, Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll take them out myself. You can still keep the promise to your weretiger boy.”
“He’s not my weretiger,” Ryuu replies, offended, “and it’s not a promise, it’s deal. In two months, I’ll finally defeat him once and for all.”
Already on his way to his motorcycle Chuuya huffs and shakes his head. “Whatever you say. Just get it done.”
The quick, “Yes, senpai” makes him grin briefly before he starts his motorcycle and leaves this empty, cold place.
So far, eight Port Mafia members have fallen victim to the trickster jackass, as Chuuya likes to refer to them. One reason for this particular name is the fact that every single body left behind had a snake symbol carved into their neck, and after some research, his team found out it’s usually associated with the trickster god. More importantly, though, they clearly think they’re oh so funny killing Mafia members and making a joke out of it. They won’t laugh anymore once Chuuya’s done with them.
Well, first, he has to get a proper lead on them, obviously, but he’s getting there, damn it.
“The solution is actually pretty simple,” Chuuya tells the various people gathered around the glass desk. “We set a trap.”
Higuchi, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, raises her brows. “You mean we pretend to be unknowing members and lure them in?”
“Precisely.”
“What if they don’t bite?” Akutagawa asks.
Chuuya smirks. Okay, so maybe he’s a little too happy about the prospect of shedding blood today, but they’ve been working on this case for several hours now, his ass hurts from being chained to a chair, and his whole body is itching for a fight. Something to release all the tension from the last few weeks. “Oh, they will,” he says. “We’ll make the bait so good, they’ll have no choice but to bite.”
It’s twelve in the afternoon by the time they finish talking details for the upcoming mission. Chuuya, in disguise, and his subordinate Okimoto will pretend to carry out one of the grunt jobs with their team being on the lookout out of sight. Once the culprit tries to make their move, Chuuya will use the tainted sorrow to take them out, and the rest depends on how cooperative the jackass will be.
So far, so good. Chuuya’s on his ways to meet one of Mori's potential new recruitments when his phone rings in his pocket. Taking it out, he scowls.
Mackarel.
“What do you want?” he snaps into the phone. It's been a while since he last heard from Dazai, and he would have preferred if it stayed that way. Let the bastard finally leave his life for good, alas...
“Eh, that’s no nice way to greet an old friend,” comes from the other side. “Did Chuuya have a rough morning?”
“Every morning that I have to hear your voice is rough.”
“So rude!”
“Spit out what you want already. I know you didn’t call just to annoy me.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Dazai hums almost dreamily before Chuuya hears a subtle shift in his voice. “But you’re right, chibi, there are other matters at hand. Go into the cafe with the glowing palm tree on your right in a few hundred feet. We don’t want to be overheard, after all.” With that, the line ends abruptly.
Chuuya looks at his phone and curses the damn bastard. Whatever that asshole has planned now, Chuuya wants no part in it, but he also knows he has no real choice. After the Port Mafia and Armed Detective Agency’s last fallout over their bosses, Mori told them all to act friendly again and hold the ceasefire. Sometimes that requires working with shitty human beings like Osamu Dazai.
The cafe Dazai mentioned isn’t far away, and just as expected, the bastard is tucked away in the corner, making eyes at some poor waitress. Chuuya joins him with a huff. After a shake of his head, the girl scurries away. “You’re stalking me now?”
“You think too highly of me, chibi. It might not seem like it, but I do have more important business than spend my days watching you do boring Port Mafia work and then get drunk afterwards.”
“And yet, here you are.”
“The baked buns here are good.” Dazai shrugs, giving him an empty smile. “Not my fault your routine is still the same as five years ago.”
Damn Mori for establishing that stupid truce. If it were up to Chuuya, Dazai would have lost his capacity to talk shit a long time ago. “Talk, bastard. Why are you wasting my time?”
Dazai’s smile turns sharper but no less empty. “That little trap you’re planning to set tonight? Change of plans, you’re doing it with me.”
“Hah?” They just discussed it, how the hell did the Armed Detective Agency get wind of it already? “Act your place, Dazai, you’re not calling the shots here anymore.”
“What’s the problem? You used to like it when I did.”
“Shut up,” he snaps, his temper getting the best of him. “What do you want with this case?”
“The trickster, obviously,” Dazai spells out for him like Chuuya’s a five-year-old imbecile. “Yosano and Atsushi got attacked last night by the same person who has been killing off you people, so we decided to lend you a hand.”
“Like we need it.”
“Clearly, since a week has passed and you’re still empty-handed.”
“We have a plan!”
“And I want to join,” Dazai says. “Who else would be better to take down the trickster than the infamous dark twins, Chuuya?”
“Me on my own. Akutagawa and me. Kouyou and me. Gin and me. Hell, even Mori and —”
“Tch. More lies. There’s no better team than us two, and you know it.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s just one jackass who thinks they’re clever, what’s so difficult about that?”
“Many things.” Dazai takes a sip of his coffee. “And the fact that you’re asking proves that you need me.”
Something dark and bitter twists in his gut at the words, but Chuuya swallows it down, resisting the urge to spit in the bastard’s face. “You're so full of shit but fine. Join me if you're so eager. How’d you even know about this plan?”
The grin that flashes across Dazai’s face is infuriatingly wide and mocking. “Child play, chibi. You added two and two together and figured you would set a trap. Even the enemy probably knows by now.”
Chuuya grimaces. “Let me guess you have something different in mind already?” Typical Dazai fucking Osamu. He’s managed to wiggle his way into this operation mere seconds ago like the slimy cockroach he is and now wants Chuuya to step aside and let h—
“Bzzt. Wrong. They know but not that you know. Plus, they won’t expect us to work together. We’ll use that to our advantage.”
“How?”
“So now Chuuya wants me to tell him what to do?” Dazai tsks loudly, closing his eyes. “Your mood swings are tiring. Make up your mind.”
“You bastard, this is my operation! You better tell me your plan before we go in there —”
“But that’s no fun!”
“Talking to you is no fun, I’ll strangle you!”
Seven years ago
“I’m gonna kill them all!”
“You tried doing that already,” Kouyou Ozaki’s voice, in comparison to his own, is calm and quiet as they enter her unit’s array of offices, despise the mission that went south, “and look where it got you. Your ability is powerful, but you have to learn to use it at the right time as well.” She opens the third door on the right, which leads to the room that Chuuya only ever visits when he fucks up. Like today.
“I’m sorry, Ane-san,” he mutters, head down. “I thought I had them. I didn’t expect them to have an entire back up team with several ability users.” If he had, then maybe they’d have managed to get the information they needed. And they really needed it. Fuck.
“You will make up for it next time.” Kouyou never screams or yells when she’s angry — he’s not sure if she even gets angry. Instead, she gives Chuuya advice and then a plan to fix his mistakes so vile that always makes sure he won’t repeat it ever again. Today, he guesses, is going to be no different.
Kouyou digs through a drawer before turning back and handing Chuuya a sheet of paper. “This,” she says, voice gentle, “is what you’re going to use to make them speak.” His breath catches a tiny bit, but he nods. “The rest of the group will have to be eliminated. You know the protocol.”
“Yes.”
“Have the information by Monday, yes, Chuuya-kun?”
“Yes, Ane-san.”
With a nod, Kouyou excuses him, and he doesn’t waste any time making himself sparse. After all, he has a job to do and only three days. Fuck.
Today’s opportunity was hard enough to get already. The group, a bunch of sneaky underworld foreigners doing business in territories that don’t belong to them, is quite good at blending into the shadows. Kouyou and Chuuya had to wait four days for them to come out of whatever hole they’re hiding in. It was their chance to find out who they got their market plans from and to eradicate them. But Chuuya jumped the gun too early, thought he could take them on his own, and gravely miscalculated their numbers. Now they’ll probably be even more careful than before. Great.
The entire ride in the elevator his mind spins with reports, numbers, and the devices that are printed out on the documents Kouyou pressed into his hands. Then the doors open, and they all fly out of his head.
“Chuuuuuya! I thought I would find you here.”
He leaves the elevator to let three other businessmen and women through and faces the nuisance that goes by the name of Osamu Dazai. “You,” he snaps, already done with this conversation. “What do you want?” Ever since his recruitment to Port Mafia several months ago, they haven’t seen much of each other. The boss treats Dazai like an executive already, while Chuuya has been training and working under Kouyou's wing. Sometimes he sees the freakshow around, but thankfully, that's about it — well, until now.
“I see not even Kouyou-san has managed to tame the rabid dog yet,” Dazai replies, sticking his nose in the air.
“Don’t call me dog, bastard!”
“What should I call you then, hm? Angry midget? Slug? Chihua—”
Chuuya swallows down the urge to send the asshole flying and instead counts to three before pushing past Dazai. If the bastard doesn’t want to tell him what his impromptu visit is about, then fine. Not like he cares.
As expected, Dazai takes the bait, though. “Ayayay, not so fast! I’ll tell you why I’m here if you buy me lunch.”
Confused but unimpressed, Chuuya retorts, “No way in hell, buy your own lunch!”
“Chuuya’s such a party pooper, somebody ever tell you that?” Dazai pouts but keeps pace with him. “Anyway, guess I’ll just have to tell you. Mori has work for us, so cancel your plans for the weekend.”
That finally stops him. “Hah? I’m already busy, asshole.”
The asshole in question quirks a brow. “You want me to tell Boss that you refused?”
Well, that’s not an option — at least, not one any sane person would ever choose. No one denies the Boss. His word is law and you obey the law if you want to survive in this kind of world. “No,” he growls, cursing under his breath. “Obviously not.”
“Great! So are you ready to go or…?”
It’s not like he has barely any time left for his and Kouyou’s business anyway, but if he has to choose between Mori’s wrath or Ane-san’s, then it’s not really a choice either. If he’s lucky, it won’t take long, and he’ll work on the foreigners as soon as he’s done here. If not, well… he will just have to take his chance. "Yeah," Chuuya eventually mutters and follows Dazai wherever he's taking him.
It’s well past nine in the evening when Chuuya’s preparing for the mission in his suite. Yokohama’s prince hotel not only earns Port Mafia a decent amount of income as a tourist attraction but also serves as one of their central workplaces. Several floors of the skyscraper are there for the citizens and tourists of the city, but the rest is mostly for the Mafiosi, providing suites, dining halls, a gym, offices, and a small nursing station. Back when Chuuya first joined Port Mafia, he lived in the hotel for several years. Officially, there’s still a penthouse suite with his name on it, but let’s just say, it’s not where he actually spends his free days.
Dazai, the bastard, obviously didn’t bother to elaborate much more on his plans for tonight. That’s why Chuuya prepared his own ideas along with his team. Let the asshole go in blind as well. But they did agree to come in somewhat of a disguise to confuse the enemy. Chuuya, who has long since learned that using his more feminine traits as both a surprise effect and undercover option, is far more effective than a cheap wig, opts for makeup and a bra. After some kohl liner, mascara, and light blush on his cheeks, and the classic Port Mafia suit instead of his coat and hat, he looks into the mirror and doesn’t see Chuuya anymore. Dazai will most likely say something just for the sake of being annoying, but even the mackerel bastard is mature enough to glance past these things. Besides, they worked on undercover missions together far trickier than this.
Half an hour later, Dazai shows up in a similar suit and glasses, even having left his bandages at home — at least, where you can see them. Chuuya would deny it if someone ever asked, but the sight of him in his old Port Mafia attire makes his stomach twist painfully. Fuck. Dazai’s eyes sparkle playfully as he approaches Chuuya. “Mylady, how should I call you?”
“Whatever you want,” he says stiffly and sets off for the car waiting for them outside. To the earpiece in his ear, he says, “We’re moving.”
“Yes, senpai,” Akutagawa’s voice comes from the other side of the line. He draws out the last vowels as though he wants to add something else, but is reconsidering it.
Chuuya sighs and spares the poor boy the decision. “What is it, Ryuu?”
Next to him, Dazai offers him a curious look, which he pointedly chooses to ignore.
There’s a muffled cough on the other side. “I wanted to ask — well, you mentioned two of the Armed Detective Agency members were attacked last night. Is the Jinko okay?”
The Ji— Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Really, you’re asking now?”
“I didn’t get the chance to earlier, and obviously, I can’t ask Dazai-san. I still need to defeat him! That would be useless if someone else got to it before me.”
“Obviously.” Chuuya risks a glance in Dazai’s direction who’s now staring ahead and humming to himself, though Chuuya’s certain he hears every word and hitch of breath in this car. After a moment, Dazai meets his eyes and lifts one brow. “Oi,” Chuuya says and clears his throat like he’s back to being an awkward fifteen-year-old teenager, damn it, “how are Yosano and that weretiger kid doing?”
“Yosano and Atsushi are fine aside from a few scratches.” His eyes flicker to Chuuya’s ear. “Who’s asking?”
“No one,” Chuuya quickly says. He doesn’t appreciate playing messenger for Akutagawa and his complicated relationship with Atsushi, but he’s not about to rat out the equivalent of a little brother to Dazai, of all people. “Just inquiring whether they got something useful to say about the attacker since they, you know, are still alive. Care to share, shitty Dazai?”
“Eh, I don’t know,” Dazai replies in a singing voice because he’s actually a four-year-old child trapped in a stick figure adult body, “doesn’t that make it less fun?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you think is fun.”
“Okay, okay, I see Chuuya’s still moody.” Shooting him a fake concerned look, Dazai folds his hands. “You see, there were actually quite a few important things my two colleagues told us. For one, the enemy is an ability user, so you can count yourself lucky having me by your side!”
“I’m so, so lucky,” Chuuya deadpans with a flat face. His team already predicted as much. No human being without abilities could sneak up on so many mafia members and kill them without any signs of struggle.
Dazai shakes his head. “How rude, chibi. We also came to the conclusion that his ability seems to be shapeshifting.”
“Hah? Shapeshifting?” That’s quite an ability to have. And now that he’s thinking about it, it makes total sense. Fuck. “And you decide to tell me now?!”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I did!”
“Not about this.”
“Because you refused to tell me anything! How am I supposed to ask about something I don’t know about?!”
“I’m so glad you finally decided to admit that I’m clearly the smarter one in this relationship.”
“I’m going to —”
“We’re here,” the driver interrupts with a subtle cough and Chuuya’s forced to take a breath and relax. It doesn’t matter how much it had hurt back then when he found out Dazai defected, how much wine and blood had flown to get over it because now he’s one hundred percent sure whatever gods might be up there did him a huge favor.
He basically jumps out of the car, slamming the door and stalks ahead. Unfortunately, the bastard has long legs and catches up in a matter of seconds.
“Stop glowering like a pitbull in a dogfight,” Dazai murmurs next to him, “you’re supposed to be a lady and a professional Mafiosa.”
“Ladies don’t always have to smile,” he replies but schools his expression into a more neutral mask.
“And I didn’t say that.”
Chuuya huffs before they enter the underground bar in an abandoned, dead-end alley they chose for tonight. They’re going to meet an informant before spending more time than necessary out in the open. Meanwhile, they made sure most of Port Mafia is laying low tonight, so Chuuya and Dazai are the only attractive targets.
They choose a table in the back with a decent view of the place and the people. As Chuuya settles down, a waitress comes over to take their orders — a small beer and a glass of water. When she's gone, Dazai speaks, “Assuming the enemy is going to disguise themselves as us, we should hold hands.”
Head whipping around, Chuuya scowls at him. “What?”
“If I touch Chuuya and he remains Chuuya, then I’ll know I’m not being tricked!”
“And what if they shift into a mackerel bastard?”
“If your ability suddenly starts working touching me…”
That makes sense, but still. “Mafia partners don’t hold hands.”
“That you know of.” Dazai grins, and suddenly he’s leaning forward, grabbing Chuuya’s hand, fingers stroking his palm. It has been a while since he felt the sensation of the Tainted Sorrow being whisked away, the stillness in his body sending shivers down his spine. “Dear Chuuya, you’re so beautiful, please considering ending your life with m—”
Chuuya rips his hand away with a fierce glare. “Stop fooling around and focus on the mission, dumbass.”
“Oh well, then I’m going to have to find another way to make sure my chibi is real.” And before he can demand what the hell that’s supposed to mean, Dazai stands up. “Our woman is here.” They leave their drinks abandoned.
Chuuya regrets ever accepting Dazai’s damn phone call. Who cares that the Armed Detective Agency was attacked, too, it’s not like they suffered any losses as always. He could have just taken care of it with his team provided with the new information and without the bastard inserting himself into it, but no, now he’s stuck with this asshole.
“Let’s get this over with quickly,” he murmurs and follows Dazai out of the bar and into the deserted alleyway where their canary is already waiting.
The woman goes by Imai and the few times Chuuya saw her — mostly when he was still doing grunt work in his teens — she always showed up in an all-black outfit except for a neon yellow pin over her chest and never bothered to say more than necessary. She waits for them next to the dumpsters a few feet away, hands in her pockets.
“You’ve got something for us?” Chuuya asks. Usually, that wouldn’t be necessary, but since this is all to lure the culprit here, it can’t hurt to emphasize the fact that they’re here on behalf of shady business.
“Yes,” she says, and Chuuya frowns. Weird.
Next to him, Dazai reaches out a hand for the documents, a slight smile on his lips. Chuuya watches as the girl, with her eyes on Dazai, fishes them out of her hoodie pocket, and hands them over. Then, Dazai’s hand shoots forward, though, grabbing Imai. Or, well, not Imai.
"Not so fast."
As the familiar glow of Dazai’s ability outlines the shapeshifter, their skin starting to drip down like candle wax, Chuuya uses the momentum to call the Tainted Sorrow and push himself off the ground to one wall to another to the air to lunge out for a kick to their stupid head.
“Oops,” is all he hears before the person moves in such an elastic, rapid way that Chuuya accidentally hits Dazai’s stupid face. Not that he minds, but.
He lands with a thud, bracing himself on his hands, and cursing. The shapeshifter, who now looks like a young woman with two ponytails snickers from where she’s standing. “Oh my, you got me!”
There’s a groan behind him. “I didn’t mean this when I told you to touch me, chibi.”
Ignoring Dazai’s dramatics — Chuuya tried reversing the gravity in his foot in the very last moment — he moves for another attack. Unless the girl is able to scale walls, she has nowhere to go in this dead-end alley. This is their chance. The ground under his feet creaks as several pieces of ground fly forward, the biggest one aimed at her torso. However, again, she bends in such an unnatural way that Chuuya would think her ability was being boneless if he didn’t already know it’s shapeshifting.
“What, not even trying to talk to me?” she asks, wiping away a fake tear. “I’m hurt. Really.”
“There’s nothing I need to know from a piece of shit like you,” Chuuya sneers back and clenches his fists. No matter how bendy she is, it won’t help her in the long run, not here. They’ll talk when she’s trapped under his foot. Shifting a little, he gets into position. “Dazai.”
“Present,” comes from behind him, and though he can’t see the bastard, Chuuya can imagine the face he’s making. “Get on with it already, chibi. I need to cool my face. I don’t want it to bruise.”
Fucking hell, really? Suppressing a sigh, Chuuya focuses on the shapeshifter. She’ll bend her way out of whatever attack he musters, either way, so he’ll have to find a moment of recovery to strike. This would be easier if Dazai wasn’t like a useless noodle in a fight. And where the hell is his back-up team? "Akutagawa," he snaps, but there's no answer.
He starts running, blocks of cement swirling along which he fires at her head and feet at the same time before kicking off the ground and using the wall behind her to swing at her face while she’s still evading the objects. Several shots ring through the air somewhere. She falls face forward, an audible “oof” escaping her.
Making himself several times heavier than he is, Chuuya places his foot on her back to keep her from escaping. “So how —”
“Chuuya,” Dazai says, and he glances up.
A scream comes from above, distinctly sounding like a battle cry, and Chuuya barely has time to look up before another girl comes at him from above. There’s a crunch. She lands on him and wrestles him to the ground, a gun trained to his face. Despite the rage in her wide eyes, Chuuya still sees hesitation, unlike the shapeshifter who seemed to view this whole interaction as a funny game. Huffing, Chuuya presses his forehead to the barrel of the gun. The girl takes a breath, then pulls the trigger, but it’s too late bc the bullet is weightless now.
Chuuya pushes her off him, momentarily noticing Dazai kneeling over the shapeshifter who is —
There’s a small gasp, and then the girl is firing more bullets with a vengeance Chuuya has only seen a few times before, her pupils getting smaller with each round. He knows it’s a stupid distraction, but nonetheless, he can’t just let her kill Dazai or Chuuya with a stupid gun. He throws himself into the line of fire aimed at the bastard. The girl grabs the shapeshifter and runs without giving her gun a break.
When the shooting stops and she disappears behind the corner, there’s movement behind him, and Chuuya realizes he’s still trying to hide Dazai behind himself. “You can stop now,” Dazai tells him.
With a huff, Chuuya lets his arms fall, meaning to set off after the pair, but cold fingers wrapped around his arm stop him. “Let them.”
“Hah?” He faces Dazai with an incredulous look. “You don’t really mean to let them run off and — “
“The shapeshifter died,” Dazai cuts in, lifting one shoulder. “When the other girl jumped you from above, she pushed you down, and her spine cracked.”
Chuuya blinks, the odd sound that he heard echoing in his ears. “Oh.”
“And it didn’t look like they were accomplices,” his ex-partner goes on quietly. “The shapeshifter seemed to give the orders, now that she’s dead, it’s over.”
Yeah, thank god. It’s over. Looking off, Chuuya wonders whether Dazai let them go because he genuinely thought they wouldn’t be trouble any more or if it has something to do with his new life on the good side. Though, he highly doubts that, after everything he saw him do years ago, Dazai’s morals suddenly did a u-turn.
“You know, chibi, you didn’t have to swoop in like my knight in shining armor and save me. I had it under control.”
“Even you can’t stop a dozen bullets penetration your skin,” Chuuya scoffs. “If you want to kill yourself that bad, do it somewhere else.”
“How I miss conversations like this.”
He's about to tell him to fuck off when he hears noise in his earpiece. "Akutagawa?" he asks.
"I'm sorry, Nakahara-san. We were ambushed."
"What?"
“I hate you.”
“I would prefer being here with someone else as well, but you don’t hear me complaining about it every five seconds.”
“Not like I can do anything else,” Chuuya snaps, yanking his hand forward and delighting in the small yelp the bastard lets out.
Dazai stretches — or tries to — his legs in return, and pulls Chuuya’s own legs with them.
“Stop that!”
“You started it!” Dazai sneers back.
“Because it’s your fault we’re here to begin with, damn it!”
By here, he means, trapped in a tiny box with their hands and ankles tied together. Since it’s simply impossible not to touch one another, it keeps the Tainted Sorrow nullified the entire time, and makes the chances of getting out of this thing significantly harder.
“Chuuya should stop blaming everything that goes wrong in his sad, little life on others.” There’s another twist in the human pretzel they've become. Chuuya bites back a growl. “I didn’t want for this to happen, I just happened not to anticipate it either.”
“Aren’t you the one always sucking your own dick for being oh so smart and brilliant?” There’s no reply except the sound of Dazai wiggling around for no damn reason. “Oi, stop it alr—”
“Would you mind shutting up? Your irritating voice is distracting me.”
Chuuya huffs out a breath, clenching his fists and praying to the God that made a vessel out of him to overpower the asshole’s ability so that he can kick his ass already. And somehow, five seconds later, there’s a click and then his hands release.
“Huh?”
“I am smart and brilliant,” Dazai says cooly next to him, “but I’m no god.” Chuuya turns his torso to see Dazai shake out his wrists, a small needle in his hand. “I always keep it with me.”
Though, Chuuya would deny the hell out of it if someone ever asked, he is a tiny bit grateful for Dazai in that moment. Then again, the bastard did get them into this mess because he refused to elaborate on their mission’s details until it was too late, and they were surrounded by a hundred enemies. Not even Chuuya could move that fast and fight several ability users at once. Before he could move a muscle, he was knocked out, and then woke up in the darkness next to Dazai.
“Well, get the ankle shackles off then,” Chuuya snaps.
“I would if you stopped our time snapping insults and actually help out a little.” He feels Dazai try to bend down, fail, then try again pointlessly with just his arm. “It’s a little tight in here.”
“No shit,” Chuuya mutters. “Let’s just —” His knees knock against the walls of the box as he bends his legs so that Dazai won’t have to reach so far. “— uh... better like this?”
Dazai hums quietly, but if Chuuya hasn’t started hallucinating, his breath sounds somewhat shallow. For a few moments, there’s just that, and then he hears metal click before the uncomfortable ache in his legs eases a bit. He lets out a small breath of relief. They’re not bound to each other anymore, but the space they’re in is still small enough to keep, at least, several parts of their bodies touching.
“Now, only the small matter of getting you away from me remains.” Chuuya hears him swallow. “Should be easy.”
It’s not. There isn't anything to grab onto except naked walls. Glowering at nothing in particular, Chuuya shimmies forward, and his feet knock against Dazai’s. He moves them away and ends up pressed with his back against the asshole. “You’re too damn big,” he eventually decides.
“I’m normal-sized. It’s you who came out several sizes too small.”
“I’m still growing!”
“Heh,” Dazai murmurs, “as intellectually engaging this conversation is, I would rather hold it when we’re out of this box. Let’s try it the other way.”
“Hah?”
“Maybe if we face each other, it will be easier to push away. Chuuya needs to turn around.”
It doesn’t sound like it’s going to help much, but he does it anyway. He twists his body — apparently, at the same time as Dazai since he gets a pocket full of elbow and knee jabs. “Ow. Why are your joints so damn pointy?” he mutters and only realizes how close Dazai is when he feels a soft gush of air across his face.
“Eh, is there anything about me you aren’t going to complain about?”
Ignoring the comment, Chuuya focuses on getting some distance. He pushes himself back into the wall but still feels goosebumps racing across his skin when Dazai does the same and accidentally whacks his nose against his cheek.
Dazai lets out a breath and lets out a low whine in his throat. “I think this is my personal hell.”
“Then move your ass to get out.”
“There’s no space! I keep kicking your legs.”
“Alright, let me —” Chuuya gropes the wall, eventually bumping into Dazai — or rather his chest. “I’m just going to press you away, alright?” Nothing comes in response. “Dazai?” When again, there’s no reply, Chuuya feels his way upwards to the asshole’s face. To his surprise, it seems like Dazai’s clutching his neck, and now that he listens carefully, there’s that weird breathing again. “Oi,” he says, loud but without too much aggression, and pinches the bastard’s cheek, “don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic?”
Dazai lets out a high-pitched laugh that gives Chuuya the creeps. “Stupid slug… I was just trying to think.”
“Thinking isn't going to get us out of here, acting will.” He pokes Dazai's forehead for good measures. “Wiggle back, or I will make you.”
“So demanding for a dog,” Dazai mumbles, “but fine, fine.”
It takes them another few tries of twisting and turning and pushing until they’re both pressed away from each other, and finally, finally, Chuuya feels the familiar rush of the Tainted Sorrow tearing through his veins, like a hand wrapping around his arm and pulling him out of the depths.
“Got it. Now we get out of—”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“We don’t know what’s expecting us out there. Are you planning on taking all of them by yourself?”
“Not like we have any other options.”
“I’m as eager to get out as you, trust me, but we will end up in the same place or worse. Chuuya can’t take an entire army by himself.”
Technically, Dazai’s right. Then again, he doesn’t know everything. “Yes. I can.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’m not in the position to lie right now, shitty Dazai,” he growls. “I can do it, but you will have to... stop me as soon as it’s done.” It’s a reach to hope that No Longer Human will be able to stop the force that is Corruption. After all, it’s much more like a God wielding Chuuya than Chuuya using an ability. It’s all they have right now, though.
“Stop you?”
“It’s too long of a story to explain. Let me handle the army, stop me, and get us out. Got it?”
Dazai lets out a stupid sigh. “I would have preferred to commit suicide with a beautiful woman by my side… but I guess your pretty face will have to do,too. Get on with it.”
With a hiss, gravity wraps around Chuuya’s body. He increases his own weight tenfold before smashing through the damn box and rising into the air. “Fuck off, Dazai!” Once airborne, he scans his surroundings, and there they are: five men already pointing their weapons at him and the girl who knocked him out the last time with her strength-based ability charging at him.
So much about hiding Corruption for as long as possible from Port Mafia. Chuuya takes a breath, clenches his fist, and murmurs, “Grantors of dark disgrace… you need not wake me again.”
Corruption flares up in him like a flame, but in mere seconds it erupts into a forest fire and consumes his entire being before his consciousness slips into a never-ending storm of death and destruction and blood.
Akutagawa reports that while Chuuya and Dazai were facing the shapeshifter another two girls ambushed their back up team that was scattered on the roof. As soon as the culprits escaped, Higuchi started a fruitless pursuit. Afterwards, it takes Chuuya half an hour to finally get rid of Dazai, who apparently makes it his mission to annoy Chuuya into getting a drink with him— which he, obviously, refuses because he doesn’t want to get poisoned or worse. Then Chuuya has to make a stop at his penthouse apartment for a change of clothes and some makeup remover before going back to Port Mafia headquarters. He finishes his reports for the last three days, looks through the new assignments on his desk, worries about the girls they let escape and whether they're going to cause more trouble, and then kicks Akutagawa out of the building so that the kid can get some sleep for once.
It’s two in the morning when Chuuya himself trudges up the stairs to his loft. He fumbles for his key, opens up, and shuffles inside, the door falling softly shut behind him. Although the day wasn’t nearly as physically tiring as he expected it to be with catching the trickster murder and all that, he feels drained nonetheless, which he uses as a personal excuse to flop face-down on the couch. That’s the price you pay for spending time with Dazai. His antics, mind games, and simply his mere presence require more energy than ordinary people do.
A few seconds go by before he hears the soft click, click, click of paws across the laminate. He turns his head, and then there’s Toto, Chuuya's dog, bumping her snout against him and licking his cheek.
After a thorough scratching and belly rubbing for Toto, a dinner that consists of the leftover rice balls from yesterday and an hour-long bath with a bottle of wine, he collapses in his bed. It only takes moments for the world to go dark and hazy.
Chuuya has been silently panicking on the couch he woke up on for thirty minutes when Dazai struts into the room. There’s a new bandaid on his forehead, but aside from that, he looks as good as ever, the bastard. He got them surrounded by enemies and emerged unscathed; meanwhile Chuuya not only lost about two entire days to this mission — which he desperately needed to eliminate that group of foreigners — but also the secret that was Corruption, and about eighty percent of his strength.
“I see the sleeping beauty finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Dazai comments, stopping in front of the couch.
“Eat shit.” Chuuya tries to sit up but fails spectacularly, so he results to glaring at the bastard. A younger mafia grunt came earlier to inform him that Dazai and him managed to wipe out the entire enemy base, which technically means it was a success, but he’s still not sure what the goal of it was, so he asks, “The boss?”
“Already heard everything from me,” Dazai replies, “so don’t bother getting up just yet. You need to save your energy for later.”
Another fucking mission? Chuuya will kill —
Dazai gets out a crumpled paper out of his coat pocket and unfolds it. Looking closer, Chuuya recognizes it. It’s the one Kouyou gave him. “Oi, what are you doing that with that?!”
“Tell me about the group.”
“What?”
“You only have today left. Tell me about them, and we will do it together.”
Blinking, Chuuya pinches himself to make sure this isn’t one of those fever dreams people experience. “You want to help me? Why?”
An empty smile graces Dazai’s face. “Don’t be stupid, Chuuya. I don’t just go around helping people. You can look at it as a form of favor.”
For a few moments, all Chuuya can do is stare dumbly before he finally gets his shit together and shrugs — “Fine” — and goes on to tell Dazai about the mission.
He doesn’t ask whether Dazai intends to see this as him repaying a favor or making Chuuya owe him one. He doesn’t want to. His time is almost up, and as much as Chuuya despises the suicidal freak, he’s not planning to drown in this world.
Chuuya wakes up to the sound of his phone going off. It takes him a few seconds to blink his eyes open and shake off the bone-numbing sleep that has wrapped itself around him before his instincts kick in, and he scrambles to accept the call. “Yes?”
“There’s been another two.”
He frowns into the darkness. Didn’t he hear the same thing yesterday? Or was that a dream? His brain’s so damn fuzzy. “Okay,” he sighs into his phone. “I’m on my way.” Once the line’s dead, and he checks the text with the address — the same place where the last two bodies were found — he looks at the date. Tuesday, June 19th. Weird. He could have sworn that yesterday had been Tuesday already.
Since his sleep-fogged brain is still trying to figure out whether all of yesterday’s events were actually a super realistic dream, he only manages to shower and dress before leaving in a rush. The prospect of speeding down the streets with his mind foggy as hell makes him scowl, but work is work, he’s got the Tainted Sorrow on his side, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to call a damn cab. He gets on his motorcycle, lets the power of the gear mechanism rush through his body, and sets off.
At four-forty, he arrives at the scene to the grim picture of Akutagawa glaring at two dead bodies. Again, Chuuya’s pretty damn sure he saw this image already, but that would mean something he’s not quite ready to consider yet. Later.
“Names?” he asks.
Akutagawa steps forward. “Hamasaki Yuji and Osada Shuichi. Both low-level grunts. Hamasaki was under Hirotsu-san’s orders. Osada —”
“Was under yours, yes,” Chuuya finishes and ignores the frown he gets in return. “And nothing in common with the other victims except their profession and being killed in pairs.” He worries his lip. “Makes sense. That girl shapeshifted into one of them, and that’s why she was able to kill them from that proximity.” When he looks up again, Akutagawa and the three other Mafiosi present all stare at him. “What?”
“It was a shapeshifter?” Akutagawa asks.
Right. They didn’t know that yet. Is it even true if “yesterday” was just a dream? It must be. Everything else has been right so far, and Chuuya can’t afford to look like a freaking lunatic right now.
“Just a hunch,” he says lamely, “I’m smart, too, you know.”
The puzzled look on Ryuu’s face would be funny if it wasn’t also insulting. “Yes, you are, Nakahara-san.”
Chuuya doesn’t know how many times he told the kid his first name would be just fine, but he lets it slide to get on with the day already. “Call for a clean-up and get me a team together. And no,” he adds after a second, “you won’t have to kill anyone.”
Just like in his dream, he rides to the headquarters, but instead of working on the trickster case, he gets out a notepad and writes down everything he can remember about that false yesterday. It the end it looks like this:
- woke up because of the call
- got to the scene with Akutagawa
- rode back to the headquarters
- reviewed the other victim and the pathologist’s notes
- met with the team and discussed our plan
- went out to meet Suzuki
- got a call from Dazai
- met Dazai at the cafe
- lunch with Kouyou
- dinner and changeover in the penthouse
- drove with Dazai to bar
- met the girl who was actually the trickster
- fight —> girl died, but her friend escaped with her (Dazai let her escape?)
- there was a third girl involved
- they're all still out there
- back to headquarters
- home
He’s trying to make some sense out of this information when his phone rings. Looking down, he frowns. Mackerel, it says, just like yesterday, except that Dazai is supposed to call him way later. It’s too early.
Chuuya accepts the call and says, “Dazai?”
There’s a beat of silence. “You too.” Dazai lets out a quiet chuckle. “Though I already expected this.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Eh, haven’t you realized yet? You and me, chibi, we’re stuck in a time loop.”